The hospital halls were unusually quiet until a sharp voice cracked through the intercom.
"Emergency. Trauma Unit. Code Red. Dr. Jillian Smith to the ER immediately."
Jillian, mid-review of her morning patient files, stood up so fast her chair rolled back. Her pulse quickened. The tone wasn't routine, his was rare. She slipped her coat on and rushed to the trauma wing, her shoes echoing against the sterile floor tiles.
Outside the trauma room, security was already forming a loose perimeter. Two men in dark suits stood guard. One of the junior nurses leaned toward her, whispering, "They came in with him. Said he's... high-profile. Wouldn't give a name at first."
Jillian's brows drew together. She approached the gurney, medical staff already working, and then saw the name scrawled on the intake sheet, half-blurred by urgency.
Graham Lin.
Her breath hitched. She knew that name.
Not medically. Politically. Financially. He was Ethan's competitor. Ruthless. Smart. And from what she'd once overheard... dangerous.
Still, this was her job.
"Vitals?" she asked briskly, snapping into control.
"BP unstable. Internal bleeding suspected. Possible cardiac trauma, no time for scans."
"Prep for surgery now," Jillian ordered. "He doesn't die today."
Even as she scrubbed in, her mind was spinning.
Why here? Why now?
Was this intentional? Or a trap?
She didn't have time to wonder long. The monitors were screaming. The blood loss was increasing. Her hands moved automatically, expertly. She could save him. She had to.
But a whisper in the back of her mind murmured:
" What if Ethan already knows?"
At MyCorp Headquarters, executive Floor,
Charles entered without knocking, unusual for him. Ethan looked up sharply.
"You're going to want to hear this," Charles said, handing over a tablet.
"Graham Lin was just admitted. Emergency case. To Dr. Smith's hospital."
Ethan's jaw tightened. He didn't move for three full seconds.
"Jillian's on shift?"
"She's already in surgery. Operating on him."
The tablet cracked softly as Ethan's grip tightened.
"Double security to her wing. No one goes in or out without clearance."
"And Charles… if anything happens to her..."
"It won't," Charles cut in, already dialing numbers. "I'm on it."
Ethan stood. He walked to the window overlooking Shanghai's steel skyline, his reflection glaring back at him.
"Why would he go there?" he muttered. "Why today? This isn't a coincidence."
Meanwhile, in the operating room, Jillian worked with expert focus, unaware of the swarm forming around her.
Sweat dotted her brow as she addressed her team.
"Clamp. Steady on the left."
"We've stopped the bleed, but his heart rhythm's erratic."
She didn't flinch, but her mind ticked with unease.
Graham Lin, his name had been whispered too many times in MyCorp circles to be a random coincidence.
Was this a message?
Just as the vitals began to stabilize, a nurse leaned close.
"There's extra security outside. The Director says it's from MyCorp."
Jillian froze for half a second.
Ethan.
He knew.
"Tell them to keep out of my OR," she said quietly. "Until we're done."
And then she looked down at her patient, the enemy of the man she loved, and said aloud to no one:
"Let's finish this."
Hours passed and the surgery was over.
As Jillian peeled off her gloves and stepped out of the operating room, the hallway was buzzing, quietly, professionally, but buzzed all the same. Security in black suits lined the corridor. Her shoes clicked against the tile, echoing louder than usual.
And there he was.
Ethan.
Leaning against the far wall like a man who hadn't breathed in hours.
His eyes locked on her immediately, reading every line of exhaustion on her face. He pushed off the wall and closed the space between them.
"Are you okay?" he asked, voice low and urgent.
Jillian tried to compose herself, tucking a loose strand of hair behind her ear.
"I'm fine," she replied, but her voice didn't match the words.
Ethan's gaze narrowed. "Don't lie to me."
She looked up at him, eyes glinting with something between fatigue and fire.
"That was your enemy on my table, Ethan. You think I don't know what that means?"
Ethan glanced over his shoulder briefly—at the guards, the whispers, the tension.
"I didn't know he'd be brought here," he said, almost to himself. Then, more firmly, "But I made sure you were protected the moment I found out."
"I don't need protection in my own OR," Jillian shot back quietly. "I need honesty."
That stunned him for a beat. Not the truth, not explanations. Honesty. A different kind of demand.
There was a long pause. Finally, Ethan exhaled, voice softer.
"Then let's be honest… I wanted to storm in and pull you out of that room. But I knew if I did, you'd never forgive me."
Jillian folded her arms, but her shoulders slumped. "You were right."
Another pause.
"He made it," she said. "Barely."
Ethan nodded. "Then you just saved the man who's tried to take everything from me."
She looked at him again, tired eyes steady. "I saved a life, Ethan. That's what I do."
He stepped closer, lowering his voice.
"And that's exactly why I can't lose you."
Just as Jillian was about to respond, a low, unmistakable growl echoed from her stomach.
She froze. Ethan blinked. Then her cheeks turned a deep shade of crimson.
"Oh no…" she muttered, instinctively pressing her hand against her coat.
For a moment, there was silence. Then Ethan's brows lifted, and a teasing smile tugged at his lips.
"You haven't eaten?"
She opened her mouth, then closed it. Her silence was answer enough.
Before she could offer an excuse, Ethan scoffed lightly, shook his head, and, without warning, he swept her into his arms.
"Ethan!" she gasped, startled. "Put me down!"
"No," he said calmly, "you just performed high-risk surgery on someone who could've gotten you killed, and now you're starving? I'm done watching you treat your body like a machine."
Heads turned in the corridor. Nurses and residents paused mid-step. Some exchanged wide-eyed looks. A few giggled. Whispers trailed behind them like perfume.
"Did you see that? That's Dr. Smith…"
"Her fiancé just picked her up like a drama lead..."
"I thought he was only a patient!"
"A patient who drives a Cadillac, wears cufflinks worth your rent, and lifts doctors like feathers?"
As they exited through the staff-only doors, Ethan muttered just loud enough for her to hear:
"You're lucky I didn't call the board and tell them to put you on mandatory meal breaks."
Jillian groaned, hiding her face in his chest.
"I hate you."
"You'll thank me after dumplings."
They'd chosen a quiet, private restaurant tucked away behind bamboo screens and trailing ivy, one of Ethan's lesser-known hideouts in the city. The soft clatter of porcelain and gentle hum of traditional music filled the air, but Ethan's attention was fixed solely on the woman in front of him.
Jillian sat across from him, chopsticks in hand, staring down at her plate, overflowing with dumplings, sliced roast duck, stir-fried greens, and jasmine rice.
"Ethan…" she muttered, lifting an eyebrow. "I said I wasn't that hungry."
"You're always 'not that hungry' until you pass out in the OR," Ethan replied, reaching over with serving spoons again. "Eat."
"I'll get fat," she argued weakly, swatting at his wrist.
"Then I'll just carry you around everywhere. Like this morning."
He smirked as he placed a delicate piece of steamed fish on her plate. She sighed, half-laughing, half-surrendering.
"You're impossible."
"I'm protective."
"You're overbearing."
"And you're underfed," he said pointedly, folding his arms and finally settling back into his seat. His plate, barely touched, sat to the side.
Jillian blinked at him.
"Aren't you going to eat?"
"I'm full watching you regain your color."
She shook her head, but something about his quiet concern tugged at her. For a man so cold and sharp in business, he always softened around her, gentle in the ways that mattered.